dear melancholy stranger,
does her love entrance you
leave you yearning for more?
you lie awake at midnight
waiting for god and other holy things
but who shows up
nobody.
between the dried out lipstick
and the patchy mascara
nobody is there for you when you cry
dear friend; who bathes in the sun and basks in the moonlight
to who I adore and agonize over
do you sleep soundly?
tell me, in a whisper
we are meant for secrecy
our love something we dare not utter
for love is fragile, a porcelain glass waiting to shatter
dear author, you are selfish and cruel
a hypocrite and a fool
but you have this amazing pain in your heart
perpetual suffering
absolute anguish
you are strange, and not meant for this life
